Setting Summer Silence
by dante de cervantes
Summary: I'm not ready for this...When were you going to find the courage to stop thinking that? To start letting her all the way in? Sequel to Pictures, Paintings and Porches. Warning: Femmeslash.


**TITLE:** Setting Summer Silence

**FANDOM:** The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

**RATING:** T

**Disclaimer:** Nutty mine.

**Author's Note:** So here's the sequel, tried to finish this as fast as possible, given the conditions. This time it's in Lena's POV. And the song is Bloc Party's I Still Remember. Amazing band, equally amazing song. It's a funny coincidence that it is, in fact a gay love song. Because I didn't know that when I started with this songfic. So I hope it lives up to all that and of course to its prequel. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I love you guys!

_I still remember _

_How you looked that afternoon_

_There was only you_

She came by a little after lunch. You were on your porch painting a piece that you've started on ever since you came back from Greece, when your head just sickeningly full of Kostos. You decided to finish the painting, it was too good not to.

You were working on the flag of his boat when you saw her across the street, her Los Nachos shirt on, her blue sneakers bouncing happily on your pavement, a big Bridget grin on her face. And for a moment there, you were happy, contented that she was going to be there. Then you kept on mixing various colors on your palette as she started reading the book that you left on the bench this morning.

You didn't have to say anything, and you weren't bothered by that at all. You found comfort in the not-so-empty quiet the both of you shared. Yeah, there was a lot to talk about, but with Bridget, you didn't need to. That's why the both of you weren't fond of talking on the phone.

Your painting was almost done and she found the book interesting, it looked like she was already past chapter three which you yourself haven't begun yet. Bridget didn't like to read that much. That was something Carmen would've done. She picked that book up because she didn't want to bother you. She wanted you to continue working, telling you that you were already 'in the zone', something sports commentators would say as Vreeland was 'tearing up the field'.

Everyone says that she's this kind of a show-off, craving the limelight. But she was never like that with you, she never demanded for your attention. She always told you to not get so worried about her in soccer games or... in soccer games.

Okay, so you had to get her ice packs a little more times than you should have.

Then you realize that she didn't need to demand, because it was natural for you to notice her, to care. It's like that with her.

You were brought back to that day when she came out of the school counselor's office, how you could tell that she was so fed up about what happened in there. You held on to this idea that as long as you had your eye on her, she'd be safe from herself, her being 'single-minded to the point of recklessness'. Just as long she was there, it was okay with you.

It had been forever since you last made your world-class (as she puts it) lemonade. But earlier that afternoon, you did. With her. And everything that had happened at that time felt so right, so at home. She still gives sighs after she's done with a glass. And you still think it's cute when she does that and you know that you've just made another seven-star pitcher.

Then you talked about your painting. Which was (you figured out now, three hours after you committed it) a huge mistake. You still remember the look on her face. How could she still be that achingly beautiful after giving you a hurt look?

Three hours ago, you couldn't piece it out. You were clueless, with no absolute idea.

But then you remember all her smiles at you, when you felt like the only person in her world. All those brushes and tubes of paint that she didn't need to give you. The times her soft eyes looked at you a little longer than they had to.

And as cliché as it sounds, it clicked. Not everything, but at least there was this _something_ that did. And it made you get off of bed, sneak out of the house, and look for her. That was all you knew at the moment, that you needed to see her.

_You said it's just like a full moon_

_Blood beats faster in our veins_

_We left our trousers by the canal_

_And our fingers, they almost touched_

It was your turn to have the pants. But in your current state of mind, you left them on your bed. You regret that as a cool wind passes and your boarder shorts couldn't help you at all. For a summer's night it was really uncharacteristically cold. You would've gone back and threw them on but three hours? Hell, it killed you more every second you were not there with her, wherever she was.

But you had a pretty good idea where 'wherever' was. So you ran to that soccer field near the Bethesda River, the one she always practiced in ever since she started getting tired of ballet and Tibby saying 'Screw this' which you realize, were her first signs of rebellion.

When you got there, it was empty and desolate. You look around and you spot the river from afar. She had to be there, somewhere along the riverside, probably sitting against a tree. And it was your fault that she was there, all alone. Nice one, Kaligaris.

She was exactly where you imagined her to be, but not in a good way, because the actual sight of her crying like that, hugging her knees so close like she was solitary in a whole other universe, like no one on earth could get to her.

Not even you.

And that just broke the blood out of your heart.

Why was it when you really needed to say something, your tongue just ties its self up like her shoelaces? Her cleats were always wound up tight. She never bent down to tie them in between a match.

But, what were you going to say anyway? You just knew that whatever you were going to say, it was going to be lame and you'll end up rambling stuff you don't even know about.

Maybe coming here was another mistake. Maybe you had to go because... maybe she didn't need you. As much as you wanted to hold her and tell her that you were going to be there for her no matter what, even after you hurt her.

But no, you turn around to walk away, to give her some space. Maybe that was what she needed now. And it was so hard to accept that it's not always you.

Three steps later she must've felt you or something because she said, _It's late_, her voice small. It was a miracle that you heard that. You go back and find out that she wasn't even looking up. She was still crawled up, motionless. You ask her how she knew it was you and with her face still hidden, she answers:

_It's always you, Lena._

And then you smile widely, feeling very pleased with yourself, not knowing why exactly. You opt to sit next to her. But just not _that _close. Who knows what might happen if you did...

God, what were you thinking? Taking that the wrong way? You're probably making a big deal out of all of this when it really isn't. She needs you so badly right now, but not in that way. So screw (Tibby is… influential) your confused hormones, you were going to sit next to her.

And so you did.

For a few seconds, all you were able to do was stare at the river in front of the both of you. Words still failed to unglue themselves from your throat. And you think how some things are so beautiful at night. A cheap attempt at a sideway glance proves that.

Then she catches you, red-eyed.

You wanted to hit yourself for lack of self-control. It was _just _her. Her.

_Her._

Her hand, you eye it inconspicuously. It was so close to yours on the grass. And all you had to do was to slip your digits with hers. And hold on to hers with no absolute intention of letting go. Just when you were about to do that, she takes that hand of hers and she uses it to tuck her hair behind her ear. And you saw the tear-stained face that you knew you were going to see.

_And I can see our days are becoming nights_

_I can feel your heart beat across the grass_

_We should have run_

_I would go with you anywhere_

_I should've kissed you by the water_

She had that look in her eye while looking into the river, the one where she was going to do something extremely brilliant, or extremely stupid. You couldn't tell which one at the moment. But when she stood and started sprinting for the bank, you had a pretty good idea which one. Sometimes she was so unpredictable that it scared the wits out of you.

She couldn't just jump in. The cold was practically Siberian. She was going to freeze her ass off, possibly getting a really bad cold. No way were you going to let that happen. So you scrambled up and ran for her.

And you actually caught up with her, which was a feat in itself, considering she's on the track team and she had a pretty good head start. Alright, so now that you were running neck and neck with her, and it looked like she was dead serious about jumping into the river, how the hell were you going to stop her?

Your lungs were already screaming and your legs felt like lead. You couldn't go on, so you did the first thing that came to mind. You jumped.

Which you then realize, was a ridiculously stupid thing to do, because she was now sandwiched in between the grass... and you.

You quickly prop yourself on all fours, about to get up. Then she lets out a hesitant _wait_. And you stay there, sort of pinning her to the ground, staring down at her in question.

Both of you were panting, breathing hard as one. Like you were in tune with one another, sharing different heartbeats in the night. Her eyes travel over your face and you feel like a god, with her looking at you like that. You wanted her to look at you like that for forever.

Her lips were parted slightly. You felt a craving wave wash over you. It hit you so hard, that it knocked all your common sense out, like your mind was shut off, in a trance, a dream.

One kiss, just to know what they taste like. What _she_ tastes like.

It was like she read you, and she knew what you wanted. So she lifted her head off the grass until your noses brushed against each other. That touch of reality woke you up and she kissed you.

Her lips met the nape of your neck and you shivered at how amazing that felt. You wonder how much better it could've been if you didn't turn away. Her lips were still on your neck, like they were justifying the fact that they were_ not_ on yours.

She pulls away slowly and her head plops back on the grass. And you roll off of her, lying next to her. You ached for her to kiss your pulse again, so she could know how hard you heart was beating. The air grew suddenly tense. And she didn't say anything.

Dammit! When were you ever going to do anything right?

_You should've asked me for it_

_I would have been brave_

_You should've asked me for it_

_How could I say no?_

You didn't dare look at her. You knew that you couldn't take it, looking into those eyes of hers, eyes that saw something in you. And you don't know why you deserve it, when you don't have it in you to meet her halfway.

Why were so scared? What were you exactly afraid of? That's just it. There _was_ something you were supposed to be afraid of.

Because this wasn't normal, this was not easy. That it may be just a phase. And that it's not going to be for forever. You needed forever. Even if forever was only as friends.

Because that's the best thing you have. And you know that she can give you better. You know that. But you're not letting her give all of that. No matter how much you want to.

Maybe you just wanted to hear her say it. That she loved you, more than you could have ever known. More than she did Carmen and Tibby. That she'd take care of you. That she'd always drink your lemonade. That she'd let you fuss over her at soccer games.

She'll say that no one needs to know because everyone (even your two best friends) would hate the both of you if they found out. And as much as your own father scared you, she doesn't have her father's eyes. Mr. Vreeland's cold and empty stares made your visits to her house as rare as blue moons.

It'd be a secret. Sacred, better than the one you shared with Kostos. You loved her longer, you loved her more. You realized that only now, that she was the only one you could feel everything for.

That she'd love you enough to keep it all a secret. Even though you knew that she wanted the whole world to know that you were hers. She'd say that it'd be okay if she couldn't hold your hand, put her arm around you, or kiss you in public.

And no one will ever figure it out because you were always those girls who were friends since before they were even born.

And what happens behind locked doors is another story. When the rest of the world is shut off, it'll just be you and her. Hands everywhere. Teeth sinking into necks and shoulders. Words mumbled in short breaths that are so clear between the both of you in between kisses.

She'd say all of that and more before she asks you if you love her back.

But those words never came. Not even when she wrapped you into her arms after you started crying. Not when she stroked your back to calm you down. She kissed the top of your head every now and then, not saying a thing. And you fell asleep in her hold, the silence lulling you to do so.

She shook you a little to wake you up. She was on her knees beside you. That was the closest she came to telling you. You could see it in her eyes that she wanted to, so much. But she didn't. Maybe because you couldn't even give her a single reason to.

Instead she gets up and offers you a hand. And you take it. She walks you home in the dark, holding your hand like she was going to lose you any moment, still no words spoken. The both of you reach the steps to the porch and she stops there.

You put your arms around her for a quick hug, thanks for the walk home. But it lasted longer, since you held her tight, choking 'I'm sorry' over and over again into the shoulder of her soccer shirt while she held you at the waist, saying that it was okay. And you're still stunned that you think her sweat smells good.

That was what you wanted to wake up to in the morning.

She pulls away and gives you a look that says that you should go inside. So you climb up the stairs onto your porch, your painting's still there.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly. Keep your cool.

It _wasn'_t okay.

You look back one more time and she's at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the painting with a certain mix of awe and anger. You catch her eye and she says goodbye and goodnight with a broken smile. For a second, you see her dad's dead eyes in hers.

The pants were still on your bed when you entered your room. You wonder if you could've had the guts to kiss her if you had them on. But you guess it was a little too late for that.

You had a hard time falling asleep. But when you did, you dreamt about boats with soccer balls in their fish nets. About a dark-haired fisherman and a blonde mermaid and how they fought for the river of Siberian Russia, the one you were named after. Because it was winter, the mermaid got frozen in the water and she died, while the fisherman in his boat watched in amusement, and while the river was solid and still, unable to do anything.

The sun crept into the cracks of the curtains and you open you eyes.

You couldn't be brave for her at all. Maybe in that sense, you didn't deserve everything from her.

For one quiet night, with all the words that didn't pass, you weren't able to compensate for it in actions. You didn't do anything.

And that killed her, _you_ killed her.

**FIN –**

So how did you guys like this one? And yeah, it is supposed to be ultra-sad. Hope this was a s good as the last. Reviews? (,)


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